Sons of Light and Darkness
by lost frequencies
Summary: A collection of vignettes based on the Fast Forward series, inspired by Willowfly's War of the Shadows.
1. premonition

**Sons of Light and Darkness**  
_vignettes inspired by Willowfly's War of the Shadows_

by lost frequencies.

--

**i: premonition**

Flung into the future against their will, their longings like stardust dissipating across the galaxy.

Only one remains in the calm of interplanetary chaos with hands firmly clasped close to his chest in deep prayer. Visions left unrealised, concealed behind soulful inner eyes. He feels the weight of the universe falling on the young shoulders of ancient warriors at war in a world too distant, too alien to call home.

_Oh my sons_, Splinter calls out to them in spirit, _may your souls prevail_.

Choosing not to grieve, the old rat welcomes death like an old friend as it approaches—this dark, eternal blanket; the comforter, the giver of truth, his teacher. Here, high up in the sky, where he hides in the sea of buildings, his mind quickly returns to its present state of consciousness, abandoning all premonitions.

No longer could he hear the war cries from distant planets, see bloodied faces of soldiers and civilians alike, or taste the swirling red dust in the wind at the tip of his tongue. His eyes flutter open, now glinting in the rooftop garden light of dawn. His breath clouds the cold air.

In the light of impending sorrow, Splinter waits, though he knows not who Death has chosen to return home with.


	2. angry demons

**ii: angry demons**

Across the vast rocky terrains of the planet Atun, the air swells with heat in anticipation of the battle against Xerxes' army. Red dust dances at his feet as Leonardo looks to the horizon. Old weapons held firmly within his grasp, growing more sacred than any other technologically advanced artillery in the universe. He wears a mask depicting the face of an angry demon born out of an ancient Japanese folklore and his helmet, with its protruding blades and tusks, would raise the fear he wishes to instill in the hearts of his enemies.

_Karai narrowed her eyes in distaste. "You're a renegade who kills his enemies with two swords. How dare you speak to me about honour!"_

Leonardo takes a step forward, eyes burning with confidence at the approaching army of alien soldiers. His brothers, identically armoured from head to toe, are standing readily behind him.

_"Say what you want about me, Karai," Leonardo retorted, his swords clashing with her single Katana. "But I can still fight for what's worth fighting for—even without my weapons!" _

This is what he has been trained to do. This is what he has lived for. "Follow my lead," he calls to his brothers.

_His face smashed against the concrete wall, sputtering blood all over. Leonardo had once again underestimated her strength. Kicking his weapons to the side, Karai pressed the edge of her sword to his throat. "You have so much to learn," she hissed. Then he caught the reluctance in her eyes. Her compassion. Her honour. And instead of killing him, she had left him there to bleed in shame._

In the dust-filled wind under the blazing splendour of two suns, time passes quickly with the fall of every enemy soldier. Blood seeps deep into their skin as the four warriors and their soldiers wage on against the masses with their respective weapons. A demon mask shatters beneath the blow of a counterattack. Leonardo immediately springs to his feet and slices his attacker's body horizontally in half.

_"I'll fight for what's worth fighting for."_

The sky turns crimson, like the gore covering his face. As the heat becomes unbearable, he lets his helmet fall to the ground and lifts his gaze towards the advancing soldiers.

_"You're a renegade who kills his enemies with two swords. How dare you speak to me about honour!"_

Without fear and remorse, Leonardo raises his swords.


	3. broken

_ill on a journey_  
_my last dream wandering_  
_over withered fields_

_—Matsuo Bashō—_

**iii: broken**

While he couldn't understand why the world had turned out the way it did, Donatello was finding it hard to accept the fact that his father was already gone.

"I don't understand." He dropped to his knees by Splinter's grave at the park and turned to Michelangelo who had since lost an arm in a losing battle against Shredder. "This isn't how it's supposed to be!"

"A lot has changed since you left us." Don could sense the hurt in Michelangelo's voice. "Thirty years is a long time."

"No!" He would never succumb to this. As far as Don was concerned, he hadn't been exiled. This was nothing but a long, torturous nightmare. He needed to get out of it, to break the slumber, to come back to his family. "This is _not_ real. This place, this..._world_. "

_Thirty years._

Had time forbade him to recall? Had it all been an illusionary trick? A world drowned in so much sorrow couldn't possibly exist. Not while he's here. He had _always _been here.

_You've been gone for thirty years, Donatello._

"This is _not_ real. This isn't—"

"Donnie?" Mike's wavering voice called out to him desperately. "You're gonna be alright. Hang in there, bro. Don't let go of my hand, ok? Just don't let go."

Now a hundred years forward into the future trapped in the midst of war, Donatello's life was hanging by a thread. He could hear the nurses and doctors bustling around him as he lay on his chest on the operating table, his shattered back facing them. The lights seeped through his eyelids and the smell of disinfectant and blood was growing stronger than ever.

"Mike..."

He felt his brother's grip tightened around his hand.

"You're badly hurt. But don't worry, we're safe now. Everything's gonna be alright."

Donatello forced a trembling smile on his face. "Glad to be home," he said softly, slowly letting go of his brother's hand.

"General Mike, it's time for you to go," said one of the nurses.

Mike's eyes swelled up with tears as he watched the sophisticated machines with their needle-like mechanical fingers picking on his brother's shattered carapace.

The nurse then placed a reassuring hand on the warrior's shoulder. "General Mike—"

"Give me a _goddamn_ second!" Mike scowled at the nurse. He continued to watch, wishing there was something he could do to ease his brother's silent pain.

But there wasn't.


	4. heart's gravity

**iv: heart's gravity**

Like these words, the mind has kept on flowing like the stream beneath my feet. I never expect it'd be this easy to be talking to you through dreams.

In this cool, inviting presence of light and water, I'm reminded that this isn't a world I've come to live in, but merely a returning visitor to a universe you've created.

You've been so quiet.

Feels like we haven't spoken in years despite how fast our lives could end. And just like that, I'd seen you drifting away...

I'm here now to say how much we've missed you. Like always.

Do you remember this, Leo?

Back when we were eight, we joked about you being the North Pole, while I was the South Pole. Mike and Don, as the continents we protected and Splinter being our compass. We made a deal to be the best, never for pride or ego.

Over time, plates were overridden, continents shifted, the earth shattered. And as we held on to our compass, you became the gravity that kept us all together.

When I'd been here more than once, you held my hand and asked me where I was going. As our eyes met, I felt what Splinter must have felt when he looked at you. But I can't let you hold on to me forever. I can't be going where you want me to go.

I see you running across the field, as the eight year old I know. The breeze calls your name and you laugh, fingers brushing along the tall grasses without a care in the world. The light bids you to come home and—just like that, I see you returning to a place where you abide forever.

Leo?

I don't know if I could be as capable as you.

Still my promise to you is strong, like the gravity of your undying heart.


	5. orphaned

**v: orphaned**

Who would now sing him a lullaby?

Tell him stories of the past.

Show him what is right, what is wrong.

So sheltered he was, immersed in his own misery.

A child abandoned.

A child scorned.

Lying on the floor, in a pool of mechanical fluids, mechanical parts, mechanical veins, mechanical innards, mechanical...

Thoughts meandered through the cracks.

A child scorned.

A child scorned.

"Master Cody! Thank goodness, you're alive!" Serling's voice reached him like a katana through the heart.

_Alive?_

Child willed himself to look at the face of his servant.

"Kill me," he told it. "Just...kill me."

Empty eyes stared back at him. Hands trembled to keep still, defying every command to obey.

"No," it fought back. "There is no easy escape, Master Cody. You will live to see the damage you've done."

Conscience. There was conscience in the heart of a robot.

Child felt himself being lifted off the floor, now nestled against the cold steel of its chest.

No longer was _it_ a servant, but a father to an orphan in need of love.

And despite how he was left to die in shame, there was still love.

There will always be.

Love.

**

_Oh these sons._

_These sons of light and darkness._

_**_

.End.

* * *

A/N: I can't believe it. I've actually...completed something. I know it's taken me more than a couple of months to finish this, but I've had a blast writing these vignettes. Thanks very much, Ash for letting me write in your 'verse. Your stories are inspiring and I hope you'll come back someday to write more.

And to the ones who've taken their time to read my stories, I appreciate all the concrit, motivational words you've left behind, and for making this creative journey a special one for me.

Love & Respect,  
_lost frequencies._


End file.
